


No Hay Igual

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [86]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Eventual Smut, Existing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, red nose day tom - Freeform, red nose day tom hiddleston - Freeform, rnd!tom - Freeform, the red nose diaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-01 20:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: Carmen's feeling extra broody just as Tom returns from promotingInfinity War.





	1. Chapter 1

“Miss Digregorio?”

Carmen looked up from her laptop just as an intern parked a mail cart just outside her office door. She smiled, glad for the interruption, and waved him in.

“Yeah?” She cleared her throat. “I mean, yes?”

The intern, a young man with spots and a button-down shirt still showing fresh creases, stumbled a little as he came forward. There was a manila envelope in his outstretched hand.

“Intra-office mail. My favorite,” Carmen deadpanned.

The intern scratched his head. “Really?”

“No,” replied Carmen with a chuckle. “Not really.

“Oh.” The intern tilted his head. “Bike messenger dropped that off.”

“Does it need a signature?” Carmen examined the envelope, looking for a slip or tag.

“No, ma’am.” The intern shook his head, then gave an awkward wave as he returned to his cart.

The envelope had no return address, just her name and address in a spidery sort of handwriting that was familiar. Handwriting that was beloved, in fact.

“But he’s not due back…” Carmen said to herself. Her fingers trembled as she undid the clasp and lifted the flap.

Inside the envelope was a long strip of paper, hotel stationery if the embossed hotel name at the top was anything to go by. There were the names of cities, printed in block letters, with all but the last crossed out:

**~~seoul~~ **

~~**shanghai** ~~

~~**los angeles** ~~

**home**

Before she could fumble out for her phone and text Tom —  _ You’re early! Are you here? Where are you? _ — she was interrupted by another intern. The second intern was brisk and efficient, dressed in a simple white blouse and black trousers with Gucci loafers. She slid her manila envelope across Carmen’s desk, dismissing herself with a curt nod. Carmen waited until she was gone to cough, as she left in her wake the overwhelming scent of lilies of the valley.

Note number two consisted of talking points, no doubt provided by a nervous, eager flack who wanted to make sure Tom stayed on message. Carmen rolled her eyes at the list — not that it wasn’t useful, Tom was famously garrulous and charming even after answering the same five questions for twelve hours straight — then flipped over the sheet of paper.

On the reverse side were doodles. What he lacked in artistic talent Tom more than made up for in clarity. Which is to say, she could decipher the squiggles and dots and lines to make out things like a glass of water, a microphone, a director’s chair, his own folded up glasses. Interspersed throughout were bits of text:  _ ILY? _ and  _ chopsticks _ and _ ask for tea. _

Carmen said “Okay,  _ now _ I can call him,” just as another intern came in. This intern, a young woman with ash blonde hair and a bored expression on her overly made up face, delivered another manila envelope. Her name and office address were scrawled upon it in the same handwriting as the two that came before it

The last note was a drawing. A rectangular face that wore glasses, with wild curly hair and a beard. The face had a warm smile and a rather high forehead, the sight of which made Carmen laugh. Below it were the words  _ “Remember me?” _

“Of course I do, you wingnut,” she whispered.

When Carmen’s extension rang, she nearly fell out of her chair. She gathered herself up quickly, then answered the call.

“Did you get my notes?” Tom asked.

“How did you do that?” Carmen asked. “Didn’t you just land?”

“Magic, love.”

“Really?”

“No. Luke was heading into the office, so I gave them to him. He had them messengered over.”

“That sounds expensive,” Carmen said.

“Worth it.”

Carmen arranged her notes before her, and made a sound of contentment. “So should I call him Cupid the next time I see him?”

“Yes, because you know much he’d love that!”

“You’re early,” Carmen said. “I didn’t expect you back until this evening.”

“Changed my flight,” Tom explained. “I couldn’t wait.”

“And neither could Bobby, apparently.” Carmen laughed when she heard the dog barking excitedly on Tom’s end.

“Was he good for you?” Tom asked.

“He was,” Carmen said. “Though he did tend to fart in bed.”

“We should probably look at his diet,” Tom mused.

“Though no more than you do,” Carmen said, thoughtfully.

“Hey!”

“So really it was like you hadn’t left at all.”

“Very funny, love,” drawled Tom.

“Are you going to sleep?” Carmen asked.

“I know I shouldn’t but I wouldn’t mind crawling into bed for a spell.” As if to punctuate his desire, Tom yawned.

“Well, try to be awake by the time I get home, huh?” Carmen said. “Movie night, remember?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Tom said. “Though if you had just come with me to the London premiere…”

“Nuh uh, Sporty,” Carmen declared. “It would have been nuts if I had come. Leave that to Sophie and Ben.”

Tom sighed. “It’s not so bad for them anymore, Button.”

“There is also the question of your little friend,” Carmen sniffed.

“I know I said that I love it when you’re jealous but…”

“I’m not jealous!” Carmen fibbed. “I just don’t think I could be friends with her.”

“Why not?” Tom asked.

“I don’t think we have any of the same interests,” she replied, primly.

“Whatever do you mean? You have  _ me _ in common,” Tom said, all too quickly.

Carmen shut her eyes, and said nothing, for in her head there were many thoughts. Tom swore he could hear, in his own head, what those thoughts were. He tried again.

“I take it by your silence that this was not a particularly good joke.”

“I love you, you know,” Carmen said. “I really love you.”

“I don’t deserve you, Carmen,” Tom said.

“No,” she sighed. “KFC for supper?”

“Now I  _ really _ don’t deserve you,” replied Tom, earnestly.

“You always say that when there’s fried chicken at stake.”

Carmen caught the tube home from work that day, lucking into a seat on the first train and then again onto the second and final train of her journey. She needed that seat as, in addition to her briefcase and her purse she was carrying home a canvas tote in which she carried a few things she had been meaning to take home.

In the tote bag were two pairs of shoes, a few books, and a sweater that needed mending. Resting just go on top of the sweater were some flowers, taken from the garden of Ruth Paget, the nice lady who worked at the reception desk in the lobby. Ruth had wrapped up a bundle in damp paper towels, then again in butcher paper, and finally in newspaper, and presented to Carmen just because.

“Daffodils are my favorite, actually,” she said, pressing her nose into the blossoms “I don’t quite recognize the purple ones, I’m afraid.”

“Irises, Ms. DiGregorio,” Ruth explained. “They’re not as big as I would have liked, but irises can be delicate. It’s not often that they’re used in bouquets.”

“They’re beautiful,” Carmen said. “Thank you very much, Ms. Paget.”

“I’m sure these aren’t a patch on anything your young man could ever give you,” Ruth had said, smiling tentatively as she waved Carmen off.

Carmen had practically skipped off to the train station at St. Paul’s. She floated down the escalator, found seats for her and her bags and her flowers which made her feel fuzzy. She was on her way home, the best part of her day, where ‘her young man’ was waiting. They’d watch  _ Infinity War _ , take Bobby for a walk, sort out supper. Go to sleep in the same bed for the first time in weeks.

A few stops before home, Carmen looked up from her flowers to find a little family sitting opposite. A stocky man with dark brown skin and wavy jet black hair chatted quietly to a serious looking blonde woman with slightly bulbous eyes and a rather long face. In the man’s lap sat a little girl who upon spotting Carmen and her bouquet pointed and oohed. She then started a game of peek-a-boo, hiding behind her own hands while Carmen ducked behind the flowers in her lap. The child would throw her head back and laugh, which tossed her curly brown hair this way and that.

Carmen liked it when you could tell when people belonged together. Not just because they looked like,  that they bore a biological connection. That wasn’t the only thing that made a family. There was temperament and character, nurtured over time, with care and with love. The way a person sat, ate an orange, whether or not they fidgeted when made to wait or stand in a queue or sit in their father’s lap on a crowded train.

For some time now, Carmen had been wondering what a child of hers and Tom’s might look like. She had sent his mother copies of her pictures from babyhood, Carmen from the age of one day to four years old, when her own mother Pilar had shipped a few photo albums right after Christmas. Diana had immediately written back to thank Carmen, and then to rhapsodize at inevitable cuteness of their future offspring. Would they have her round cheeks with his dimples? Her small hands or his big feet?

The only inevitability that Carmen and Diana could agree on was the hair. There was no way that Carmen with her unruly, frequently frizzy waves, and Tom with his occasionally ridiculous floof, could possibly have a child with pin straight hair. Carmen and Tom counted on curls, and were happy to be pleasantly surprised by anything else.

Carmen got off the train before the little family, smiling to herself as she crowded into the lift at the station that chug chug chugged up to the street. She dawdled, lingering behind people and their little ones, all fresh out of the tube like herself or coming out of the market or on their way to pick up takeaway for supper. Just as she began to turn towards home, she remembered what she had promised Tom.

“Okay, but if he farts up a storm in bed tonight, you have nobody but yourself to blame,” she said to herself, heading to the KFC with a dopey smile on her face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite it being bad for jet lag, Tom ends up taking a nap after all.

Home. The sunlight that streamed through the lounge windows was only just beginning to fade as afternoon began, ever so slowly, to give way to evening.

Tom had taken the dog for a short walk, then returned home for a shower and a cup of tea. The sofa was inviting, though he knew better than to fall asleep. He lay down anyway, chuckling when Bobby scrambled to join him. The dog curled up between his bare feet, resting his head upon Tom’s left instep.

On the coffee table, alongside his watch and his wallet and his phone was a picture, a small photograph Tom had kept with him while he traveled abroad to promote the movie. He picked up the picture to examine it.

Carmen stands before a hedge thick with white hydrangea blossoms. Instead of posing and smiling prettily at the camera, she scowls at something or someone off-camera. An unseen wind lifts the fluttery sleeves of her immaculate white pinafore, her outfit complemented by a white barrette that pins her black hair off her face to reveal a furrowed brow and dark eyes, chubby cheeks a pouty mouth.

On the back of the picture, pencilled in Carmen’s mother’s precise script:  _ “Enid, age 2 — Mother’s Day 1981”. _

It was Tom’s new favorite picture of Carmen, one of dozens Pilar DiGregorio had sent a few months before. He wasn’t usually the type to keep pictures in his wallet — that was what his phone was for, after all. But this photograph was instantly arresting to Tom, different from the rest of the set that otherwise showed her as calm and well behaved. Even after all this time, it was strange for him to see this and other pictures captioned with “Enid”. Carmen had lived with her chosen name almost as long as the one bestowed upon her at birth. But looking at this picture — the scowl, the square set of her tiny shoulders, the unruly hair — Tom thought,  _ Definitely, definitively Carmen. _

Tom closed his eyes, just for a moment (or so he thought), and when he sputtered awake, he found himself lying on a pink sand beach. Dressed in simple blue trunks that matched the cloudless sky over his head, Tom felt the warmth of the sun but did not burn. He was admiring his arms, which were tanning nicely instead of burning as they usually did when he saw a shadow fall over him.

Before him stood a woman, tall and lissome, with dark hair and olive skin set off by a white string bikini. She smiled, her pink lips parting to reveal blinding white teeth.

_ “‘Scusi? Signore?” _ She flicked her hair over her shoulder, then indicated the patch of sand next to him.

Tom could only gawk as she joined him, arching her back as she settled down in the sand. The woman was close enough that he could smell her, make out the fine hairs on her forearms, see the outline of her erect nipples as they poked against the fabric of her bikini top.

She was beyond beautiful. Luscious, in fact, and a few inches of bathing suit short of being entirely lewd. She was his usual type.

But why was it that when he looked in her eyes (which were brown but not dark like the night) he saw no spark? Her hair was thick and silky but there were no curls for him to wind his fingers through. The flesh of her body was flawless, not scattered with stretch marks or moles, scars or bruises that invited him to wonder at how they were earned, and marvel at the beauty of their imperfection.

She turned her attention to him, cooing in Italian (a language he understood, but did not speak as fluently as she) over his eyes and his jaw, the hints of gold in his dark ginger beard, and how dashing he looked in his suit. It was flattery, words he had heard before, meant to charm and disarm him. The right words from the perfect woman, a password that would admit her to his bed or, at the very least, this patch of pink sand.

No spark. No curls. No flaws.

Tom’s eye was caught by movement at the shoreline. A lone figure plodding along slowly, clumsy in her steps. He got to his feet, and walked away from the siren and her bikini and her long hair and her empty eyes.

The lone figure somehow split into three, a grown woman in a plain black tank suit holding the hands of two small children. One boy and one girl, wearing striped t-shirts with their bathing suit bottoms. They let go of the woman’s hands and scampered along, shrieking with laughter when the tide would catch them and douse their feet in the cold Mediterranean water.

Tom didn’t know he had stopped to watch the children until a voice, hoarse but warm, piped up from his side.

“Did you enjoy your nap?”

Carmen’s eyes were merry and bright when he turned to look at her. She scrunched up her nose and smiled. “Oh, you look all sleepy still. Adorable.”

Tom took her hand, pulling her closer so they stood touching. He looked at her as she watched the children (“Billy, don’t splash your sister like that!” “Iris, don’t bite your brother, please!”), and re-discovered his beloved. The curly hair tangled by the wind, soft arms and round shoulders that looked ripe for biting. When he noticed how round and heavy her belly was, his breath caught. Having heard that, Carmen looked up then smiled ruefully.

“Tell me the truth, baby,” she muttered. “I look like a house, don’t I?”

“You look…” Tom began to say.

“Beautiful?” Carmen rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, pregnancy glow and all that shit.”

“No,” corrected Tom. “Ripe.” He pressed himself behind her, so she could feel his cock as it began to harden. “Lush.”

“Oh yes, I remember” said Carmen, smirking to herself as she checked the children again. “Your pregnancy kink is rearing it’s tumescent head yet again.”

Tom nuzzled the top of her head. He slid his arms around her, then growled in her ear. “I need you, Button.”

“Baby, the children…” The smirk was no longer in her voice, and Carmen sounded triumphant and wholly satisfied.

“What about ‘em?” Tom began to toy idly with one of the straps of her suit.

“We should…  _ oh _ … bring them back to the hotel.  _ Hmm.  _ Call the front desk to send up a sitter…  _ oh my. _ ”

“I don’t think I can make it, Car,” Tom whispered, feeling drowsy all of a sudden. “As all the blood in my body seems to have rushed right to my…”

Tom woke up. Again.

This time for real.

There was no pink sandy beach or warm sun. No sign of the Mediterranean, the sea or the woman in the white bikini.

Tom didn’t care about those, though. He missed the children playing in the surf. He did miss the feeling of Carmen, warm and solid and real, in his arms.

He was back at home, in cold and now rainy London, in a house that was only occasionally drafty and now smelled, as all houses should, of fried chicken.

He heard a voice, Carmen’s voice, speaking in a low and soothing tone, floating out from the kitchen. There was also the gentle clatter of plates, forks and knives being collected. Bobby’s little huffing sounds, the ones he always made when begging for a piece of chicken skin.

Tom lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling and grinning like a loon, and listened.

Then there was also the sound of music. The soundtrack to  _ Hamilton _ again, Tom noted with a slight grimace. Carmen couldn’t get enough of it, and so he was used to it by now. But this time she sounded different as she sang along. Sitting up, Tom craned his head to the precise words she substituted as she sang along to “What I’d Miss”.

_ Not so fast! Someone came along just to kiss him _

_ Get him off until we had a sexy little rhythm _

_ Don’t believe me yet? He doesn’t have a chance _

_ ‘Cause I’ve been kickin’ ass at getting into Thomas’s pants _

_ But Carmen’’s gotta keep the American promise _

_ I simply must shag Thomas. _

_ Thomas! _

Tom couldn’t wait anymore. He got up, stretching his back and his arms as he walked to the kitchen. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed as he watched Carmen finish plating dinner and giving bits of chicken to Bobby as she sang.

_ Thomas Hiddleston’s coming home! _

_ Thomas Hiddleston’s coming home! _

_ Thomas Hiddleston’s coming home! _

_ Thomas Hiddleston’s coming home! _

_ Thomas Hiddleston’s coming home, Lord he’s _

_ Been off in LA for so long! _

_ Aaa-ooo! _

_ Aaa-ooo! _

Carmen still didn’t see Tom standing there, as she was now serenading the dog between slipping him pieces of chicken skin.

_ Tom is leading us both in copulation _

_ There is nowhere else to go _

_ But the sun comes up _

_ And the world still spins _

_ Aaa-ooo! _

_ I got rid of my “no baby” medication _

_ Then I said, ‘I gotta go _

_ I gotta set up our bordello.’ _

_ Now the work in bed begins… _

_ Aaa-ooo! _

Carmen straightened up, wiggling her hips as she began to dance to the upbeat tempo of the music.

_ So what’d you miss? _

_ What’d you miss? _

_ Thomas, my own sweet love, I wanna give you a kiss _

_ You’ve been in LA posing with lots of different ladies… _

_ But now you’re back so we can make ourselves a baby _

_ You traveled the wide, wide world and came back to this… _

Carmen spun, stumbling when she saw Tom standing there. A smile, one of surprise and earnestness that was so wide it stretched her cheeks and then she began to walk to him. But before she could greet him with a hug and a kiss and a cheeky fondle of his ass, Tom met her in the middle of the kitchen. Pushing her against the counter, Tom began to tear at her blouse even as she pulled at his jumper.

“Off off off,” Carmen moaned. Any surprise she had felt — by his appearance in the doorway, by the force at which he pressed into her — was knocked out of her by the strength of his kiss. The way he pulled every stupid inconvenient piece of clothing that kept them apart. The coziness and sweetness of their domestic life shoved aside when lust moved them. A hunger that could only be fed by the parting of Carmen’s legs as she sat precariously on the edge of the kitchen counter and the swift thrust of Tom’s cock deep inside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is probably the first time I've actually ended mid-coitus.
> 
> And the next chapter might be the first time I've started a chapter mid-coitus.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Carmen settle down to watch _Infinity War_ , which Carmen has been putting off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline wise, this story takes place when Tom returned from promoting IW at the end of April. Which was _ages_ ago, I know.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Miss me, baby?”

“What gave you that idea?”

“There I was, minding my own business…”

“Mmm?”

“Dancing with the dog, feeding him chicken…”

“Mmm.”

“Then you come barreling in with this crazed look in your eye.”

“Missed you.”

“And now I’m sitting on the kitchen counter,  _ Hamilton _ soundtrack blaring…”

“Let’s change the music.”

“Bucket of chicken just out of reach.”

“Sorry.”

“Spread eagle and bare assed, with your dick deep inside me.”

“Mmmph.”

“What was that?”

_ “Oh…” _

“Tom?”

“Yes?”

“Ah…”

_ “Hnnnnngggggggggg!” _

“Say again?”

“Cuc… Carmen…”

“Yes?”

_ “Carmen.” _

“Mmm, that feels good.”

“Love.”

“You feel good.”

“Oh  _ love _ …”

_ “So good.” _

“Buh… Button…”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“C’mere.”

“Welcome home.”

Carmen felt dizzy. Which made sense, perched as she was on the edge of the counter, thighs held up and apart by Tom while she planted her hands behind her and tried not to bang her head on the cupboards just behind her. She was out of breath, the very picture of dishabille. Skirt pushed up to her waist. Her knickers pulled aside hurriedly by Tom seconds before he thrust inside her.

She figured they would get to this eventually. After supper and the movie. A quick walk with the dog around the corner, or a longer one up the hill where the three of them could get some fresh air as they gazed down upon the skyline from its peak. Stumble home, pour wine, make out in front of the television then get down to business.

Sex.

Coitus.

Lovemaking.

Shagging.

Fucking.

_ It. _

Whatever it was called, Tom and Carmen did it well and did it often and had been doing it with each other for quite some time now.

Even so, in this moment, there was room for surprise. Surprise as the speed at which Tom got her in her present state, and surprise again by the stillness that immediately followed. Both of them poised before the climb, eagerly awaiting the fall.

Tom shifted his hands, moving them below her knees so he could steady himself by holding onto the counter edge. Despite his height, he still had to go up a bit on feet. To thrust, and then again. Carmen wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his neck while he continued to move. Close was never close enough despite being able to smell and taste his skin, feel his breath against her temple. She dug her nails into his back and pulled, drawing him nearer with every roll of hips. Carmen just wanted,  _ needed _ him. Moaning in her ear, filling her up, fucking her hard and if her ass was sore and her clit unstimulated she didn’t care so much in the moment because Tom. Was. Home.

“Button, I’m gonna…” Tom whispered. “Are you…?”

“Do it,” she urged, pushing up against him. “Come.”

Tom held her again, forgoing the stability of those kitchen counters for the weight of her in his arms. One arm around her back, hand grasping her at the waist, while the hand of his other arm cupped her jaw. Tom bent down to kiss her, his mouth open and heaving with every wet breath. There were eyes to look in, anchoring him as he moved faster and pushed harder. Skin against skin, sweat making them stick, and he was tense and hard everywhere while she was hot and soft and wet and…

_ “Oh FUCK.” _

Every muscle in his shoulders and back and ass clenching while his hips continued to push and heave through his climax, rough little collisions as he came inside her. He slumped forward, and Carmen felt every shock as she continued to hold him in her arms. Another thrust, and all Tom could do to keep from sliding to the floor was hug her. When he tried to give her some room, he felt Carmen shake her head.

“Sorry you didn’t…” Tom began to sigh, stopping when Carmen shook her head.

“It’s fine, love,” she whispered, kissing his neck.

“Was that alright then?”

“It was…” She considered. “A fine start.”

“Is that all?” Tom lifted his head to look at her, finding a dopey smile on her face that matched his own.

“Let’s see what we get up to after dinner, Sporty,” she replied. “How do you feel about being dessert?”

* * *

Fresh out of the shower, damp hair falling to her shoulders and dressed in an old sweatshirt, soft granny underpants, and Tom’s socks, Carmen stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The socks were soft after years of wear, striped and mismatched per the tradition of his school rugby team. Downstairs Tom was cleaning up in the kitchen: loading the dishwasher. Boxing leftovers. Wiping down the counters after he’d fucked her on them.

And she felt pleasantly sore, a result of the quickness with which he took her, his size, and the time they’d spent apart. Before she rejoined him, Carmen slipped her hand under her shirt and felt her stomach. She closed her eyes to say a quick word of thanks to nobody in particular.

And then she prayed.

Carmen wouldn’t presume to ask God or the universe or The Force to help her and Tom. She wasn’t religious, after all. What she was, however, was selfish, and so she asked for the one thing she wanted most while palpating her belly with the tips of her fingers.

She met Tom on the sofa, running her fingers through his own damp curls. “Thanks for leaving me some hot water, Tom,” she said, taking a handful of popcorn from the bowl in his lap as she kissed him on the cheek. She shoved the lot in her mouth, grimacing as she chewed.

“What the hell did you do to the popcorn?”

“Skipped the salt,” he said, primly. “And the butter.”

“What’s the point of eating popcorn if there’s no butter or salt?” Carmen swallowed her bite. “What did you put on it?”

“Nutritional yeast.” Tom held up a little shaker of flakes. “Want some more? It’s supposed to be good for you.”

“Nuh uh,” she replied, dusting off her lap. And when she did, an errant popcorn kernel fell upon the floor where it attracted Bobby’s attention. The little dog sniffed, lapped it up, then immediately spat it out on the rug. Carmen pointed it out with glee.

“See? Even he doesn’t like it.”

Tom shook his head. “Ready to start?”

Carmen looked at the television, where the Marvel Studios logo was frozen on the screen. “Yes, baby.” She clapped her hands. “Let’s avenge some shit.”

“We don’t have to watch this, you know,” Tom said. “We could still watch…”

“Are you kidding?” Carmen elbowed him in her excitement. “I’ve been waiting so patiently. Avoiding spoilers, not going to the premiere…”

“I thought that was because you didn’t want to bump into…” Tom began to say with a playful smile.

“Shuddup.” Carmen glowered at him, leaning away when he tried to kiss her. “I hate you.”

“I love you desperately,” Tom chirped. When he grabbed the remote control to start the movie, the photograph he had been looking at earlier fell to the ground.

Carmen grabbed it, squinting as the dimmer turned down the lights in the lounge. She held onto it, snuggling into Tom’s side. Being so close to him, held by him, in fact, did little to dispel the uneasiness she felt at the opening scene. It was as she suspected, the movie returning to the ship that rescued what was left of Asgard’s people at the end of  _ Ragnarok. _ She couldn’t help looking at Tom’s face, eyes flitting between him and Loki on the screen. Heimdall beamed the Hulk away, saving a life even as his own death was imminent, and the dread that was a tight feeling in Carmen’s chest soon became a queasiness that rattled around in her stomach.

“Stop it,” she whispered, turning her face into Tom’s chest as soon as Loki’s last minute attempt to kill Thanos had failed. When he stopped the movie, she squeezed her eyes shut so that she would not cry.

“Button,” Tom murmured. “It’s just a movie.”

“I know,” she said. “But I… I’ve never seen you…” She huffed. “I’ve never seen you die in a movie, and I’m not about to start now.”

Tom nuzzled her cheek, tickling the soft skin with his beard. “Button.”

“It’s true,” she explained. “I always stop it before.”

“All of them?” Tom asked. When she nodded, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“It’s not funny,” she muttered.

“I know,” he said.

“It just…” She sat up, revealing that her eyes were now wet and red. “I don’t like it when characters I like die, anyway. Never did. Long before we met.”

“And now?”

“And now? It’s someone I love.” Carmen looked at the photograph of herself as a baby, still smooth despite having been gripped in her hand. She returned the picture to its spot on the coffee table, then gave Tom a serious look. “I love watching your work but I can’t say that I will ever care much for watching you die.”

“What about Hamlet?” Tom reached for her, slipping a large warm hand around her neck. He raised slightly when she leaned into it, offering her cheek for him to cup.

“That was a goddamn nightmare, I’ll have you know.”

_ “I Saw The Light?” _

“It happened off-screen,” said Carmen, shrugging.

_ “Crimson Peak?” _

“I guessed you’d be back as a ghost, and I was right.”

_ “War Horse?” _

“I left the auditorium to go to the bathroom.”

“I’d ask about  _ Only Lovers _ except…” Tom said slyly.

“You were already dead.” Carmen blinked rapidly. “And as for  _ Dark World _ ? That was tough, but I was glad I stuck around to the end.”

Tom looked at the screen. “I think I’ve got the  _ Early Man _ screener lying around.”

Carmen shook her head. “Nope. Sent it to your sister.”

“So what do we do now?” Tom tossed the remote aside.

“Dry hump on the sofa?’ Carmen joked.

And so Tom pounced, repaying Carmen’s insouciance with a growl and a nip to her jaw. When she reached for him, he pinned her back against the cushions. Before she could speak again, his mouth was on hers. Carmen entertained the swipes of his tongue at hers before she sputtered.

“You taste like nutritional yeast, jerk,” she muttered.

“It’s good for you,” he muttered, slipping a hand under her sweatshirt.

“Butter tastes better,” she hissed, licking his neck. “And you know how I feel about salt.”

“You need to cut it out,” Tom countered, sucking on her earlobe.

“Fine, fine.” Carmen’s eyelids fluttered. “I guess if I was really hard up for the taste I could just suck your…”

“Brat!”

Grabbing her wrists, Tom arranged her arms around him even as he moved to lie on top of her fully. But even has he did, Tom hooked one of her legs over his thigh, giving his hand easier access as it slipped past the waistband of her underwear to her bare flesh. He kissed her, deeper and deeper, his tongue swirling and plunging in concert with his fingers that rubbed and teased at her clit.

First one finger, then two that slid up and down with the tender bud caught between. He curled them into her folds, fingering her within while his thumb was left to press and circle her clit while she gasped her eagerness in his ear. As they moved, her sweatshirt moved up until her breasts were exposed. Tom managed to scoot down, flick a tongue at one nipple before sucking it between his lips.

Carmen babbled, and things looked hazy to her as she looked this way and that. She gave in to his relentless affection, digging her fingers into his scalp the harder he sucked on her breast. The faster his tongue circled her nipples, and the deeper his fingers pumped into her. She bucked, hard, when his fingers brushed against that spot just inside, and the sounds of abandon that came forth from her lips were swallowed by him when he moved back up to kiss her.

Carmen fumbled for him, shoving her hand just inside his sweats even as his own hand continued to touch and fondle and caress. It may have been more comfortable on the sofa, but it was no less frenetic than their coupling on the kitchen counter.

It was Carmen’s turn to fall, her time to come and when she did it hit her hard. The hand that wasn’t curled around Tom’s cock instead formed a fist that beat into the back of his shoulder. The inside of her left thigh, that leg having been propped up by Tom to permit him access to her cunt, burned from the stretching and the awkward angle but still she pressed into him. She felt stiff and then as limp as she’d ever felt, exhausted and spent and dazed. Tom came, his semen coating her hand and dripping onto her bare stomach. He collapsed onto her, whimpering when she bit his neck.

“What a waste,” she said, almost to herself.

“Huh?’ Tom looked drowsy, satisfied.

“All that semen,” Carmen mused, not minding the sticky damp of him. Relishing his cock as it pressed against her hip. “If I’d only had the presence of mind to move, then you could have come inside me, and that’s one more baby-making shag out of the way.”

“Out of the way?” Tom sounded mildly offended.

“Sorry, love, but you’re nothing but a baby making machine to me now.”

“Is that right?” Tom sounded thoughtful.

“And I’m just a broodmare,” Carmen cackled. “To give you an heir who shall carry on the family name.”

“The machine and the mare.” Tom snuggled into her. “My name, and your temperament.”

“Your neck,” Carmen yawned.

“Your eyes.”

“Your height.”

“Your…” Tom yawned. “Your hair.”

“Your brains,” Carmen whispered.

“Your heart.”

Carmen shook her head. “Yours is bigger.”

“Your sense of humor, then.”

“Fine,” Carmen agreed. “Because we both know I’m the funny one.”

“That makes me the lucky one, then,” Tom said, earnestly.

“Aw.” Carmen pressed her lips to his forehead. “I would swoon except…”

“Except what?” Tom kissed her shoulder.

“I’ve got about 180 pounds of semen-stained Englishman heaving on top of me, and I really would like another shower.”

Tom scowled at her. “And they say romance is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in case you were wondering where the title of this story came from, [wonder no more](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C1qwZnJg-ss).


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